A soft gasp from above snapped her out of her preoccupation. She unclasped the rest of the fasteners.
Placing one hand on the front of the boot, the other on the back, she looked up at him. “Can you step out?”
Droplets of moisture from the first rounds of decontamination fluid clung to his short hair. Framed by blistered cheeks, the reflection in his glasses shone down at her. Her crouched form, her visor and helmet, everything warped in the way his glasses bent around his face.
He shifted his weight, and she pulled. A squelching sound echoed in the small space, followed by his low, sharp groan.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulling it off as quickly as possible, not wanting to prolong his agony.
Her movements paused as she focused on his bare foot. Dark moisture, blood and other bodily fluids, caked bumpy skin.
She swallowed, tasting acid. “Next one.”
Hissing out a long breath, he shifted the other way. She repeated the process with the second boot to reveal a foot in the same condition.
Wynn stood and tossed his boots into the decontamination compartment. Her gloved fingers twitched at her sides. She’d delayed the inevitable as long as she could.
Taking a deep breath, she reached for the hem of his shirt. “Up and over,” she murmured, stretching the material away from his body to reveal more skin ravaged by radiation.
He pushed himself away from the wall with a groan, then helped by lifting his arms. Sculpted muscles and defined ridges took up the planes of his chest and abdominals—a person who did physical labor on the daily.
The thought conjured more questions.
With his help, she pulled his shirt up his back and over his head. A rasping noise bounced off the walls as she lifted it the remainder of the way, his skin sticking to sections of the shirt. He groaned.
She swallowed her apology this time, knowing it didn’t help, and tossed the shirt in the wall compartment on top of his boots. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the top closure of his pants. The white of her glove contrasted with the stretchy black material.
Her hands shook as she unclasped the same type of closure as his boots. When it was open as far as it would go, revealing a downward trail of hair, she spread the flaps wide, trying not to touch his skin more than necessary. Gently, she tugged the waistband over his hips, bracing against the sound of his pain.
She tried not to look, but it was impossible with how she needed to crouch to guide the material downward. A thick cock hung between muscular thighs lightly dusted with hair. The skin of his legs was as blistered and red as the rest of the body, and she focused on his knees as she tugged down the garment.
“Step,” she said when they pooled around his ankles.
He followed her instructions, shifting his weight one way, then the other. She stood, tossed his pants inside the wall compartment, then faced him. He wore nothing but his glasses. She reached for those too.
His hand shot out. She gasped at the quick motion, at how fast he’d moved after everything. Fingers encircled her wrist like a vise through the material of her UV-suit.
Her heart hammered in her chest. She waited a beat, then two, and when he remained still, she swallowed.
“Okay,” she said. “They can stay on for the process.” Since they were made of a hard material, they could pass. When he didn’t move, she added, “You can let me go.”
After another beat, he released her. She took a step back and reflexively touched her wrist with her free hand. Her skin throbbed with awareness where he’d grabbed her.
Keeping her gaze fixed on his face, she reached upward and flicked her thumb at the edge of her helmet, disengaging it. The scent of cleansing fluid wafted over her head. Then came the rest of her suit and attached boots, all the while keeping him in sight. As soon as she stood in her tank top and shorts, she shoved her outerwear into the wall compartment for sterilization and closed it tight.
Wynn touched the panel beside the last door and initiated the final stage of decontamination.
Wind swirled, and with it, a thick fluid coated them. The man’s entire body shook. He reached a hand to the wall to steady himself. Wynn twitched. The urge to help him clashed with wariness born from the wrist grab and his nudity.
The process went on, cleaning, disinfecting, always scanning to gauge their radiation levels. The man’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, his teeth clenching against what had to be excruciating pain.
The encompassing wind accelerated—the final stage of the decontamination process. It ruffled her chin-length hair against her cheeks, then died down completely. The panel beeped, the inner door sliding open with awhoosh.
Neither of them moved for a moment, but his labored breaths affected her, a lump hardening in her throat. Straightening her spine, she stepped in close, encircled his wrist as gently as possible, and tucked herself beneath his armpit to take some of his weight.
Damp skin met hot flesh. She gasped. It was like he had an inferno living inside him, and maybe he did because of the radiation infecting his body. But more than that, a sense of familiarity shot through her, one she didn’t understand.
She looked up at him, her pale face and wrinkled brow reflected back at her. She didn’t know this man. Why would touching him bring recognition? Stars, she’d barely been intimate with anyone. Why would it feel familiar? She pushed the foreign sensation aside to concentrate on the next challenge.
